


Like a child bruises a butterfly's wing...

by superblue



Series: Tho' it were ten thousand mile [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Verse, Rape/Non-con - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superblue/pseuds/superblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a non-canon exploration of what the relationship between John and Marcus <i>could</i> have been like had Sherlock not entered John's life in my AU "It won't be the War that kills you."</p><p>This is purely a hypothetical and does not reflect actual choices made by John or by Marcus in my story.</p><p>Tw: rape/non-con</p><p>I <i>do not</i> condone rape or non-consensual sex in any way. If you have not read It won't be the War that kills you, then you will probably not understand this story. Marcus is a morally gray character, until his character grows and is taught otherwise. This scene would take place very early in my story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a child bruises a butterfly's wing...

Strangely enough, the first thought to rocket through his panicked brain was that he shouldn’t really be surprised.

After all, he had been warned.

* * *

 

Brandy had always been watchful around Marcus, even though Julia regarded him as nothing more than an overgrown St. Bernard with enough muscle to double as a pack mule.

But Brandy knew, she’d seen it in the way Marcus’ eyes trailed after John, curious, and glinting strangely sometimes at night.

“John,” she asked, softly, aware of the growing darkness and how sound carried under the bridge, “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

John himself had been preparing his bedroll, picking up some of the larger bits of rocks and sharp-angled chunks of cement; they clattered as he tossed them away.

“Does it have to be now?” He sighed, shifting his right leg a bit to relieve the ache. “I’m bloody _knackered_. Raz had me running after his sorry arse all afternoon.”

She bit her bottom lip, rolling the soft dip of it a few times against her teeth. “I know you’re tired, I _am_ sorry, but I really need to talk to you…it’s about Marcus.”

Though he’d already flattened out his roll to dubious acceptability (raggedy thing that it was), there was something in her tone, something openly pleading, that made the Omega turn his head towards her. Deep in the pit of his stomach, unease bloomed, like the sudden lighting of the streetlamps across the Thames at dusk.

“What _about_ Marcus?”

The man himself was dozing fitfully naught but ten metres away, huffing and puffing underneath his own tatty bedroll, his lengthy legs sticking out of the end like a sausage too long for its bun.

“John I – I know you and he are friends, but…sometimes the way he looks at you –”

John cut her off with a swipe of his hand and dismissive turn of his head, “Christ not you too Brandy. He’s not _dangerous_ he’s…he’s just challenged.”

“John.” It wasn’t a question, just a plea. A plea for him to please look at her and understand what she was trying to say.

“Look, I know it surprised us all when he practically knocked Jason’s head off just for coming at me, but we all know Jason was high as a sodding kite and deserved what he got.”

Brandy sighed, running a reverent hand around the full swell of her belly. “It’s not that, it’s the – the other things. It’s the way he looks at you, the way he touches you…look I’ve been around possessive Alphas all my life and I just – sometimes I’m afraid for you.”

Well, he'd certainly had enough of this conversation. Marcus may be a bit threatening sometimes, but John had never actually seen him become aggressive without serious provocation. Still, he couldn’t just dismiss Brandy’s concern, especially when he knew it came from a place of love. 

The Omega pushed two fingers to the side of his achy head, rubbing in small circles to ease his exhaustion. “All right Brandy, I’ll keep an eye on him, but I can honestly say I think your just being paranoid.”

She managed not to look put out, and that was saying something, especially considering her fluctuating moods.

“Fine, just remember what I said, and keep your damn eyes open!”

* * *

 

 Now, as he struggled and spat dirt from his mouth, the edge of his face scraping against the gravel, he wished he’d taken her more seriously.

He had been dreaming – if you could call it that. It was more like reliving the most horrible moments of his life on a newsreel, all in black and white, the film discoloured, bubbled, and streaked. He must have twitched or groaned, made some kid of distressed noise because when he woke – or more accurately – when he was forced awake, Marcus was above him, hazy in the shadow and running his hands up and down John’s too thin body in rough, proprietary motions.

At first, John though he meant to calm him. Marcus was generally endearingly ham-handed at most things, so John almost laughed, but then…

…but then the Omega’s meagre blanket was ripped from his body, flying away in a whoosh of night air as Marcus descended upon his person, crushing the smaller man under his own weight.

John was too stunned to even speak. Marcus, apparently having been woken by John’s nightmare induced cries, was now vigorously scenting John, rubbing his great big shaggy head up and down his chest, fingers twisted and pulling at John’s denims while flexing his pelvis in aborted thrusts.

“M-Marcus! Wha – what the hell –”

The larger Alpha only snarled something unintelligible, finally stopping in his frantic pawing to grip painfully on each side of John’s ribs. With a great heave, he flipped over the blond, pushing him upwards and half off his bedroll onto the dirt and gravel.

Fear, bright and coursing, lanced through John’s muscles as his chin scraped along the pebbled ground. Marcus planted one elbow into the centre of John’s back, effectively keeping him on his stomach no matter how hard the Omega struggled and panted beneath him. With his other hand, Marcus pulled at the waistband of John’s jeans, and though they stretched and ripped ever so slightly, he couldn’t quite get them down and away from John’s arse.

With that one simple movement, with that one tug at his waist, John knew exactly what was happening here.

Like a man possessed he grunted and bucked, flailing his arms and legs, adrenaline lending him strength, and pure, unadulterated fear bolstering his will.

It almost worked.

Well, it _would_ have almost worked, if not for one little evolutionary throwback common to all Omegas, even latent Omegas.

Marcus snarled and gripped at John’s shoulder in a strength borne of rage and aggression, and with a quickness not often seen in such a large man, he grabbed John’s uncombed hair and pulled his head forward, revealing the sweaty nape of the smaller man’s neck. John cried out, he cried out for Marcus to end this, he cried out for mercy, and mostly he cried out in desperation because he knew that if Marcus did manage to subdue him, this would be the only way.

Marcus leant down, just a bit, just close enough for John to catch a whiff of aroused Alpha (smoking wood, musk, and loamy earth) before he clamped down, viciously, on the nape of the his neck.

Like his strings had been cruelly cut, John whined as he went completely limp under the crazed man beneath him. Marcus held the pressure, breathing harshly through his nose and John almost thought he could feel the man smile while his flesh was between his teeth.

Keeping his head down, Marcus brought his knees up so that he knelt over the paralyzed Omega, then reached under him to undo the button and flies of John’s worn jeans. Without the extra movement, without John fighting back, it was laughably easy to removes John’s jeans and pants until they wrinkled uncomfortably around his knees.

With this bare arse open to the world, John’s skin erupted in gooseflesh, and one disparate tear leaked from his eye to drop mournfully over the tip of his nose.

John wasn’t terrified anymore, he was heartbroken. That this formerly gentle man, that his _friend_ , would force himself on him so…he felt like his insides were dying.

Marcus made an appreciative sound as he ran one roughened hand over the swell of John’s cheeks, the middle finger (the longest), dipping down into his crack to test the sensitivity and readiness of the Omega’s entrance.  John tensed ever so slightly, as much as he could, and Marcus, again like a dog, clamped down even deeper into John’s nape and shook his head roughly, as if telling his prey to behave – remain _still_.

John cried out once, though it was naught much more than a gasp of pain, and then he felt it – the rush of natural lubricant that almost always followed such treatment. He was humiliated, and through no will of his own, he was aroused. John could feel the fluid leak around his hole, he could feel his prick thicken and push against the rough fibres of the bedroll.

Through all this, Marcus seemed quite satisfied. He ran his middle finger up and down the cinched flesh, before he dipped, with absolutely no warning, down completely up to the very first knuckle. John groaned weakly, feeling saliva (and maybe blood) drip down the side of his neck from Marcus’ painful hold on him.

The long finger dragged in and out in sharp, desperate pumps. Marcus was clumsy, almost inexperienced, but the thick, hard line of his sex pinioned within his filthy tracksuit pants was the biggest clue as to how this was all going to end.

John finally found his voice.

“P-please…” he gasped as Marcus’ mouth clenched and the man himself freed his erection by pulling the turgid thing up over the elastic waistband, “please…Marcus…don’t!”

A low growled emanated from the Alpha, and that was John’s answer. Marcus laid himself down, bodily on top of him now, the plush head of his penis whispering against John’s arse like a kiss.

“Marcus no! Look at – what you’re doing, no, Mar –”

And his last word cut off in a scream as Marcus eagerly drove himself inside the Omega, the searing thrust leaving the walls of John’s entrance hot and stinging. For a moment, the Alpha stilled, seeming to revel in the situation, before he let go of John’s nape in a huff and pulled the Omega’s hips to kneeling.

John remained limp. The damage was done. There wasn’t anything he could do at this point – he was compromised in the most basic way and the shock and horror of the situation continued to render him pliant.

“John…” Marcus’ voice was low and worshipful, breathy, and thick like those who’ve experienced their first hit of heroin. “Joooohhnnnn…”

The Omega remained quiet, biting his tongue till the taste of blood in his mouth became a comfort, proof that he was still alive. He didn’t say a word as tears scored his face, washing away the dirt and mixing with pools of saliva and despair around the collar of his jumper. He remained quiet as Marcus seized his hips and pumped his cock fully into the other man, reveling in the glossy slip and slide, the sharp _slap_ of thighs against flesh.

Marcus worked into him like it was his dying wish, like this was his reward after being such a good, good boy. He swung his hips in circles, digging deeper until John, his own cock purpled and wet, came with a sob, shooting small globs of semi-opaque semen onto the bedroll.

John really wanted to die then, because this wasn’t supposed to be about pleasure – this was betrayal, this was possession.

Marcus continued his onslaught, now taking on a desperate tempo, the thrusts shallower, and John could almost imagine he felt the man become impossibly harder inside him until he groaned, long and loud, pulsing his release into the bruised and bitten Omega.

A few more half-hearted thrusts…and Marcus was done. As he released John, the Omega slumped to the ground, arse still upended, his face sunk into the dirty ground below.

Marcus didn’t bother to put his own dick away, nor did he redress John. Instead, he placed reverent hands on the back of John’s thighs, like the light touch of a consensual lover, and began to slowly, teasingly lick his own release from John’s hole.

John whimpered, but it was so small, so ineffectual, and even if someone heard him now, nothing would change. You couldn’t change that past, a lesson that fate seemed to like teaching John over and over again.

Marcus glutted himself on his own spunk, mixed with John’s slick, like it was his first meal in a decade, and when he pulled his face away from John’s cleft, it shone with their fluids.

“John?” Marcus finally asked, as if he had just now noticed his only friend collapsed and broken on the ground. “John is better now? Marcus save John from dreams…John is happy?”

John closed his eyes in misery, hot tears finally escaping in fat streams that mingled with the filthy ground.

He shouldn’t really be surprised, he had been warned.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me: justsuperblue.tumblr.com


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